


To Hearts Which Near Each Other Move

by dietplainlite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Finnrey, Healing, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: Though Finn required weeks of physical therapy, his recovery had progressed at a steady pace with few setbacks.Except for the burning.Rey has something that may fix it.





	To Hearts Which Near Each Other Move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sundance201](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/gifts).



The air outside is still, as heavy with water as it can get without raining, so all it does is cling. The canvas walls of the tent bow with it, yet inside, a breeze stirs, the air circulated and cooled by the machine Rey rigged together from spare parts and stubborn will.

“It’s basically a super powered evaporator,” she said as she tinkered, sweat pouring off her. Rey had spent one day in the humidity before she began her project. There were few things Rey could abide less than humidity.

A cloud of water vapor fills the room as the tent flap opens and Rey ducks in, holding a small clay pot in one hand, already stripping down with the other.  She takes a moment to set the pot down before discarding the rest of her clothes, then plops down in front of the fan in her basics to unwind her arm guards.

“I finally found the last ingredient,” she says, flinging the dripping garments away.  She pauses at Finn’s pointed look, then gets up and carries them to the clothes line that spans the width of the back of the tent. He watches the muscles work under her tan skin as she deftly clips the clothes to the rope. She’s filled out since joining the Resistance and eating semi-regular meals, but her long limbs remain lean, and when she’s been training for days or weeks, her long limbs take on that sinewy quality she had when they first met.

Once all of her clothes are secure, she turns around, catching him staring. “What?”

Finn clears his throat.  “Nothing. Um, so you finished making the balm?” he nods his head toward the little jar.

Clapping her hands, she bounces to the table and picks up the jar. “It took forever to track down the Pommwomm. I have to say it’s so much easier to make this with a blender.”

“How did you make it before?”

“I had a mortal and pestle for the dry stuff. I made it out of a little animal skull and femur. And I had to chew up the leaves.”

“A blender definitely sounds um…easier.”

“Yeah. Less chance of poisoning myself, too. Anyway, take off your shirt.”

Finn obeys, folding his shirt carefully and placing it next to him on the bed roll. “You really think this will work?”

“Pretty sure,” she says. “It always worked for sunburns, and I tried it on that slash on my leg. I know it’s not nearly as bad as yours, but it definitely helped.”

“Well, even if it helps a little, it’ll be enough.”

Healing from the lightsaber wounds Finn had received from Kylo Ren on Starkiller base had mostly been a straightforward process.  He’d been in a medically induced coma in a bacta suit until he stabilized, and then two of his vertebrae were replaced with the most advanced cybernetics available to the Resistance. He still required weeks of physical therapy, but his recovery had progressed at a steady pace with few setbacks.

Except for the burning.

Since the Jedi were eradicated more than fifty years ago, there wasn’t a whole lot of information available on lightsaber wounds. Until Luke returned, no one knew whether or not the burning sensation Finn felt along the slash on his back and the burn on his shoulder were common, if it was caused by the spinal damage, or if it had something to do with Kylo Ren’s unstable weapon. Luke confirmed that he had experienced a phantom burning in his wrist for months, and his hand had been severed by one of the finest weapons in the galaxy. He also had no idea how to remedy it.

During the construction of Starkiller Base, Finn had been mildly electrocuted on more than one occasion, and it was the only thing Finn could compare the pain to, at least in the way it flowed. Only it was more like fire licking along his nerves. Some days it only travelled along his scars, other days it radiated from his scars to the very tips of his fingers and toes. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the change in intensity. Today it’s a stinging crackle.

At this point, he’s willing to try anything to quiet it, even an ancient folk remedy from a desert wasteland.

Rey wedges herself behind him, standing on her knees, and opens the jar. A scent fills the room, citrusy at first, but with pungent undertones, like wet earth and a hint of Grey Gabaki.

“Tell me if it hurts,” she says, her breath ghosting across his neck. She dips her fingers into the jar and shows him the balm. It’s yellow, with a subtle shimmer and flecks of dark blue.

“Looks delicious,” he says. 

“Trust me, it’s not.  Hold still.”

She starts at the top, on his right shoulder, dabbing the balm onto his skin and then rubbing gently.

“Breathe,” she reminds him. He lets out his held breath and with it, the fire in that spot begins to dim. He doesn’t say anything yet; it may be wishful thinking.

As she moves down and across his back, she hums, at first a low sound in her throat with no discernible melody, building into a song with snatches of words, in rhythm with the oscillations of the cooling unit and the crystal chimes Rey hung outside the door, which have begun to dance with an errant breeze, signaling a coming storm.

His eyes grow heavy, and the tingles fanning out from his scar no longer burn, as if the very essence of cold radiates from her fingers as she runs them up and down his body.

Shaking his head, he snaps out of his trance. “What’s that song?” he asks, voice cracking.

“I don’t know, really. It’s been with me forever, but the words are always just out of reach.”

“I have one like that,” he says, but at the moment it is fully out of reach.

Rey runs her hands over his head and ears and gives him a quick kiss on the back of his neck before shifting to sit in front of him.  She tilts her head and her brow furrows as she looks at the wound on the front of his shoulder. It’s deeper, and sometimes it feels as though there’s a burning hole going straight through him. She touches it with two fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I hadn’t gotten myself captured. If you hadn’t come back for me.”

“You didn’t get yourself captured. And coming back for you was my choice.”

She smiles and dips into the jar again. This time, as she circles her fingers around his wound, the coolness doesn’t make its way all the way to the edge of the pain, but it douses it enough that his mind is clearer than it’s been since the moment he decided to free Poe Dameron. His entire body softens, no longer bracing for the lashes of pain. 

Rey doesn’t stop there. She rubs her hands together and places them on his temples.

“What are you doing?”

“The headaches,” she says.

The headaches aren’t a side effect of his injuries, but a result of tension and anxiety. All the available pain relievers make him drowsy, so he’s learned to deal with it. Rey has massaged his head before, but the effect always dissipates minutes after she stops.

He closes his eyes again, lights and colors swirling across his vision as she picks up her song. A dull rumble of thunder accompanies the first fat drops of rain plopping onto the roof of the tent.

“Let’s see if that holds,” she says. He opens his eyes. 

With a kiss on his nose, she hops up and begins securing the tent for the night, making sure everything is water tight and all unnecessary equipment shut down.  He starts to get up to help but she shoos him away, so he works on straightening out their bedroll.

When everything is secure, she leaves one lantern burning and sets it on the crate next to the bed.  Finn lays down on his stomach and she lays next to him, on her side. Her eyes are bottomless in the low light.

“Thank you.”

“I’m so glad it worked,” she whispers. “I don’t know how long it’ll last, but I barely used any of the balm so I can do it again tomorrow night.”

“That will be nice.”

“Maybe at least it’ll help you sleep.”

“I think so.”

Rey reaches out and turns out the lantern. The dark envelopes them, and the hum of the fan, and the thunder, and the dancing of the chimes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the poem Good-Night by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
> 
> Also, I am so glad the word balm exists because salve and ointment are the least romantic words on the planet.


End file.
